


Freedom's Just Another Word

by rivlee



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:23:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nasir's learning that freedom doesn't mean control. Spoilers through episode two of <i>War of the Damned</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freedom's Just Another Word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steorie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steorie/gifts).



> Steorie asked for a Quiet Me prompt based off speculation for the next episode of War of the Damned, from the Bread or Death scene. As this is pieced together from trailers and personal insight, it is obviously NOT at all canon compliant. (Minus Nasir going to the grain storage to inform Spartacus of the ships and the actual bread or death scene.)

Freedom did not mean power or guaranteed strength. It was a lesson Nasir was struggling to learn in the face of all that had changed in the past year. He was no longer Tiberius the body slave, or the confused boy somewhere between Tiberius and Nasir. He was now solely Nasir, a wild little dog or man to some, a harsh teacher to others, and yet still a boy in the face of those who held authority. 

Nasir couldn’t help but wonder if they would’ve have come to _this_ if Oenomaus and Mira still stood among them. 

Nasir had no qualms about shedding blood of the guilty. Of the innocent, even if they were a Roman shit, he could not so easily stomach the violence. What had bread makers and grain merchants ever done to him? He too had once taken in a gladiatorial game as sport; should he now also stand among those condemned to fight for food? 

Nasir approached Naevia and laid a hand on her arm when Gannicus’ protest fell on deaf ears. “We should not do this,” Nasir said. “Spartacus would not agree.”

Nasir remembered his mercy, how it had granted Nasir life, and he wondered how so much had changed for the worse in less than a turn of the sun. 

“Spartacus does not stand here,” Naevia hissed. She glared at the Romans on the ground in chains, sneering at a woman in tears. “They treated us like dogs for years. We give them gift by not beating them as they cry. Let us finally see our vengeance.”

Nasir passed a pitying look to the bruised and bleeding men held in the center of the square. “These men did no such thing to us.”

“They have surely benefitted off the back of slaves,” Naevia said. “It is cause enough.”

Nasir fell back into the crowd. If Naevia would not see reason, Crixus was hopeless. There was only one course of action he could take and it could very well turn his friends into his enemies. 

“Where do you go?” Gannicus asked as Nasir slipped behind him. 

Nasir paused and shook his head at the spectacle before them. “To alert Spartacus.”

“Is that good?” Saxa asked. “Did he not demand that he, Agron, and Donar be left alone to sort out the grain?”

“He must know of this,” Nasir argued. 

“Agreed,” Gannicus said. 

“Oh, one of you has fucking sense,” Attius said. “The gods show favor.”

Gannicus laughed low as he patted Attius’ shoulder. “Remember that mad fuck of a German barbarian you whined liked a babe about?”

“Neptune’s sweaty balls, don’t tell me _this_ is his man?” Attius asked.

Nasir allowed a brief moment for a smile. “He only insults those he calls friends and those he despises. I think you two would share some enlightening conversation.”

Saxa and Attius both looked puzzled at Nasir’s words, but from the glint in Ganncius’ eyes he understood the veiled insult. Something in the distance caught his attention and he gripped Nasir’s arm before he could leave. 

“Wait; my look-outs come this way.”

Saxa grinned. “And he claims to be no leader.”

“The only things Gannicus will lead anyone to are women and wine,” Attius said.

_And death_ , Nasir thought. He could not find amusement when each second felt like it could cost the men below their lives. 

“Ships come into the harbor,” one the men said as he approached them. “I do not know its colors.”

Gannicus turned to Nasir. “You have more than one reason to seek Spartacus out. Tell him to make haste before this all goes even deeper into the shit already clogging the streets.”

Nasir did not linger any longer. The streets were crowded with rebels and still stained with blood. The stench of death, of rotting food and corpses, remained within the walls and Nasir had to keep his wits about him. Most of the camp was still in tents outside the gates; there was not enough space for everyone inside the city and already they were beyond the limits of its resources. Spartacus had spent this past morning with Agron and Donar at his side trying to see what food, water, and wine could be salvaged and what was to be dumped into the sea. 

He also had guards posted at every street. With so many unfamiliar faces roaming about, extra measures had gone into their protection. Nasir had little patience for those who kept him from his task. 

“No one is to pass,” one of the new guards stationed in front of the grain store informed him.

Nasir pulled on all the arrogance he had ever used as the slave who ran a wealthy villa. He was a valued member of this rebellion who had trained some of its best fighters. He broke words and bread with Spartacus and his generals each day. He would not be spoken to like a wayward child with no power in his own hands.

“Do you have any fucking idea to whom you speak? Move ass,” he growled.   
The guard’s eyes widened. “You are the Syrian. Apologies.” He scrambled back and let Nasir pass. 

The storage room stunk of molding grain and pitch. Agron, Donar, and Spartacus were all hunched over the large stacks. Nasir’s sandals echoed on the wooden floorboards of the hold as he entered. 

“I asked us not to be disturbed,” Spartacus said at the sound.

“Apologies,” Nasir said.

Spartacus looked up at his voice and a small smile graced his lips. “You are an exception I will permit.”

Nasir couldn’t bring himself to smile in return, though it was appreciated. He spared a nod to Donar who was covered in dirt and dust, and gifted Agron with a longer, lingering gaze.

“There is much you must see in the city center,” he reported. “You should come now.”

“What brings concern?” Agron asked. He rose to his full height and looked at Nasir with eyes that detected the frustration in his body and the anger kept out of his voice as he spoke.

Nasir took a moment to find salvation in those bright eyes before turning back to Spartacus. “Ships weigh anchor off the coast, though my concern is more for the sport being performed in the square.”

“You protest to sport now?” Donar asked. “Agron’s moods are clearly catching.”

“I protest to bakers being forced to fight for the amusement of others with food as a prize,” Nasir said. “I protest to us being no better than the dogs we attempt claim of moral victory over.”

“Fuck the gods,” Agron said. 

Spartacus took a deep breath. “Crixus?” he asked.

Nasir nodded. “I do not wish to see further conflict yet I cannot let this pass without words.”

Spartacus gripped Nasir’s shoulder. “You do what is right, Nasir, and see my own wishes fulfilled. Let us seek an end to this folly. Then we shall deal with the ships.”

“What of the grain?” Donar asked. He looked around all the bags soaked and ruined with pitch. “Hunger is the most pressing concern.”

“I will see to it once the other matters are handled,” Spartacus vowed. “If our captives think we will pick them off one by one for sport or their own chance at food; our hunger is the least of our concerns. It will descend into chaos.”

“Or worse,” Agron agreed. 

Spartacus and Agron led the way out with Donar following, cursing under his breath the entire time. Nasir let the others pass before he followed. He took a moment to slide his darker emotions deep under the mask he now wore to fight this war. 

He should not have been surprised to find Agron lingering outside the hold as he waited for him. Nasir let himself have this one moment of respite as Agron wrapped his arms around his waist. Nasir let him take the weight of it all while he struggled to control the anger rising up in his body.

“I’ve learned to fear your quiet anger more than fists and hissing,” Agron said. “Silence means something dangerous looms within.”

Nasir’s smile was genuine this time. “Is that so?”

“You did attempt to take Spartacus’ life the last time you stood there calm as fury burned in your eyes.” Agron gripped the back of Nasir’s neck. “Should I warn Naevia you will invade their bed with knife in hand?”

“Naevia may be paying us a similar visit,” Nasir admitted. “We do not always see agreement these days.”

Nasir did not expect any of them to remain unchanged by this war; there were too many numbers and too much action that would’ve left him with night terrors in another life. They all truly had shed who they once were and yet, Nasir was tired of looking into the faces of friends and finding strangers. He knew he could endure this war as a fighter, but he was starting to question if the cost of his own sanity was worth it. Cheering on the deaths of simple men with no training brought down for the bloodthirsty sport of a mob was not a prize worth his life, or Agron’s, or any so gathered among them.

Agron’s lips were a welcome touch as they brushed across Nasir’s forehead; forever gentle even among all the death that surrounded them. It still stole Nasir’s breath sometimes; that one touch and no words spoken could be enough to calm him. 

“I can survive this war without you by my side,” Nasir suddenly said. “I only fear how much of myself will be lost if the gods require me to do so.”

“I will always be with you, whether by your side in body or spirit,” Agron said. “Do not worry over such things when we both stand alive.”

It would have to be enough for now; even if Nasir knew with freedom came little power or control, among the rebels or their own fates.


End file.
